How Love Should Be
by 33whiteroses
Summary: Things Brooke Davis shouldn't do: Tequila shots. Seedy bars. Oh, and Chris Keller.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This story will be Chris/Brooke. Not Lucas/Brooke, not Lucas/Peyton, not Nathan/Haley, etc. Just so we're clear from the get go. Feedback much appriciated!

She is doing so, so many things that she shouldn't be doing.

Like tequila. Tequila and her haven't mixed since Bevin's post homecoming party freshman year, when she drank an entire bottle of Cuervo Gold. Well, ok, Peyton might have had a few sips, but Peyton didn't wake up the next morning half naked on the trampoline with Mark Chaplan and Peyton didn't have to search everywhere on the patio for her underwear and Peyton didn't have her entire back covered in tic tac toe games written in purple marker. So really, for all intents and purposes, Brooke drank that whole bottle, and since then, she's avoided tequila like she avoids white shoes.

Plus, she's in a bar that is the poster child for all those Lifetime movies where girls go to the wrong side of town and end up doing things that they tearfully testify about in court several months later. The floor is so dirty that she thinks she actually sees footprints, and if it weren't for the fact that she's placed her taser in plain view on the bar top, she's pretty sure the biker gang in the dark corner would've done much more than leer at her. So, yeah, seedy bar could be added to the list of things she shouldn't be doing.

Oh, and she shouldn't have randomly hopped in her car and started driving after that emotional fuckfest of a wedding. She should've stayed, and tried to talk things out with Lucas, and with Peyton, and tried to be a good friend, but all those regrets are slowly going away each time she takes another shot of tequila. She stopped when the car ran out of gas, somewhere in southern Ohio, and she figures that maybe tomorrow she'll fill up her tank and head back. Or maybe not. Maybe she'll stay here in Bumblefuck, USA, population twenty-seven inbred hicks, and she'll reinvent herself. She could be Brooke the Teacher. Brooke the Dentist. Brooke the Astronaut.

She looks up at the sound of the bell over the door clanging (seriously? there are places that still have that?) and in walks one more thing she shouldn't be doing.

"Chris Keller," she says, or maybe yells, because even though he's all the way across the room, he hears her voice and walks across the room to join her at the bar. He's grinning like the cat that ate the canary, and Brooke thinks about tasering him, just to make her day a little better.

"This officially means God hates me." Brooke signals for another round as Chris just laughs and slings an arm around her. Her hand reaches for the taser, and his arm retracts.

"Brooke Davis! Of all the gin joints. It has been far, far too long since we have seen each other."

Brooke turns to glare at him. "Listen, you pompous asshole, I -- " She pauses, because the song on the jukebox has just changed to some emo tune, and that makes her think of Peyton, and you know what? Screw it. "Forget it." She pounds another shot. Next to her, Chris gapes.

"Forget it? That's it?"

"That's it." She grabs his bottle of beer, and drinks half of it. "In the grand cosmic scheme of things, honestly, I just can't give a damn about you, Chris. Sure, you had sex with me as a cheap, manipulative ploy, and nearly ended my relationship with my boyfriend, but considering he has now cheated on me twice with the girl I thought was my best friend, I think I can better deal with being screwed over by you."

Chris frowned. "Haley slept with Lucas?"

Brooke drank the rest of his beer. "Peyton, you jackass. Peyton kissed Lucas."

"You know..." Chris spins her barstool, forcing her to look at him and to spill part of her drink. "They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else."

Brooke debates throwing her drink at him, decides it would be a waste of perfectly good alcohol, and finishes it instead. She stands up, stumbles a little, and then waves at the bartender.

"Hi. This guy right here? In the stupid shirt? He's got my tab. Thanks." She grabs her taser and her keys, and fights back a set of drunken giggles as she hears him sputtering at the bartender.

Outside in the parking lot, her car keys have never been so confusing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the feedback, everyone! Hope you all enjoy this chapter too. Reviews are loved.**

She frowns and attempts to find the unlock button, but her fingers won't seem to cooperate.

"Brooke!" Chris is jogging across the parking lot.

She pulls frantically on the door handle, but it won't budge.

"Brooke!" Chris stops next to her. "You're just lucky that Chris Keller is so successful that he can pay for your tab. I'll assume you're paying me back in sexual favors?"

Brooke flips him off, managing to drop her car keys in the process. Before she can even start to figure out a way to get them off the ground without puking, he's already snatched them up.

"You're not driving."

"I wasn't planning on driving, jackass. Now give me my keys."

He raises his eyebrows. "You were trying to get into your car so that you could not drive?"

"Yes!" She tries to grab her keys, but he's holding them above his head. She jumps, and nearly falls over. "I'm going to get in my car, lock all my doors so that the alphabetical register of serial rapists in there doesn't get in the car with me, and sleep this off."

"Well, I agree with the sleeping it off sentiment." He loops an arm around her waist and starts walking her across the parking lot. "But give the serial rapists some credit. Do you think they'd be serial if they didn't at least put some effort into finding victims? I'm sure they'd be perfectly willing to break a window, pick a lock..."

"Why are you touching me?" She attempts to wiggle away, and manages to halt their progress. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

He grabs her wrists. "I'll carry you, you know. Actually, that'd be kind of hot."

She gives him her best glare. "I've still got a taser. And I'm not too drunk to locate it."

"Brooke, as much of a jackass as you may think I am, I'm not going to leave you in this parking lot. So you have two choices. See that hotel over there? My whole tour is staying there. Manager, publicist, roadies, crew... I have an extra room, you can sleep it off there. I won't go near you. Either way, I'm not leaving you alone."

Brooke frowns. "What's the second option?"

Chris breaks into a wolfish grin. "Well, if you're not tired yet..." She follows his gaze across the parking lot to a neon sign advertising The Diamond Room.

"I am not going to a strip club with you! God, you're disgusting!"

He's grinning even wider now, if that's possible. "So hotel it is then?"

Twenty minutes later, she is sitting in what she has to admit was a fairly clean hotel. Chris walks into the room through a door she hadn't noticed.

"You got me a room connected to yours?"

"Just in case you get lonely in the middle of the night."

"I'll be sure to lock the door."

"And despite your rudeness, I'm still so good to you. Here." He tosses something across the room. Her reflexes, dulled by alcohol, can't stop her from getting hit in the face. She untangles herself from a mess of fabric.

"Chris Keller: The Upside of Existance Tour." She looks at him. "This is about the ugliest t shirt I've ever seen. And not just because your picture's on it."

"Well, they were designed in about twelve seconds. And I figured you didn't want to sleep at that." She realizes that she's still wearing the red dress.

"Sweet dreams of me as always." He shuts the door behind him, and Brooke somehow manages to lock the door, change into the t-shirt, and hit the lights. As soon as her head touches the pillow, she's asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The phone starts ringing way, way too early. Like, earlier than any person with a hangover should be forced to endure.

"What," she mumbles into the phone, still trying to remember where she is, how she got there, and if she's wearing underwear.

"Good morning, hot stuff. Have any R rated dreams about me that you'd care to share?"

"Yes. I dreamed that someone shoved you under a moving train." She rubs her eyes and attempts to swallow.

"Can you come let me in?"

"One, you're not seeing me with no pants. Two, I can't move. Three, you're not seeing me with no pants."

"Luckily for you, I have a key." Within a few moments, she hears the lock click. Groaning, she pulls a pillow over her head.

"Isn't it illegal for you to have a key to my room?" She feels the bed shift as he sits down. "You're just lucky I'm eighteen. Two months ago, I could have you arrested for trying to share a bed with me."

"As much as it pains me to do this, I brought you more clothes." She pulls the pillow slightly to one side and sees him holding a pair of her jeans. She manages to sit up and snatch them out of his hands.

"Did you take these out of my car?"

"Don't worry. You'll find your bra exactly where you left it. Now put those on, we're going to breakfast."

"I'm sorry. Did I miss the part where I'm somehow obligated to spend time with you?"

Chris raises his eyebrows. "You could leave. But then you'd miss my proposition."

"I think I already declined sleeping with you, thanks. But really, if you want your ego crushed again..."

He stands up. "Chris Keller will be in the hotel restaurant in five minutes. Be there, or Chris Keller is keeping your car keys." And still grinning, he walks out the door.

"Asshole," she mutters, and reluctantly begins to pull on the jeans.

The restaurant is weird, kind of like an IHOP gone hick. Brooke orders fattening breakfast food and decides not to feel guilty about it, because hey, a couple of hundred extra calories are probably the least of her problems right now.

"So." Brooke sips her coffee. "Let's hear about this proposition. And if it involves any references to whipped cream, handcuffs, or the size of your guitar, then I bring back my threat about that taser."

He just smiles and leans back on the booth. "I'll just ignore the fact that you bring sexual innuendo to the breakfast table and bring this back to a PG rated conversation. As you pointed out last night, my concert t-shirts suck."

"Wait a second. Are you finally admitting that you're ugly?"

"Chris Keller is too good looking for that crappy t-shirt. Look, one of the things I remember about you is that you're into fashion. I need a new design for my shirts. And you need to do something with your life."

Brooke bangs down her coffee mug. "Excuse me?"

"I said I'm far too good looking for --"

"Not that part, jackass."

He smirks. "I'll spell it out for you. You are wasting any talent you may have. I know that the fashion epicenters of the world are London, Paris, Rome, New York, and Tree Hill, but I think your audience could be expanded a bit."

"How dare you--"

"Look, if you want to spend the rest of your good years picking fights with the Goldilocks twins and watching a perfectly promising musical career be squashed by Batman's misplaced ego, be my guest. But if you come on the last month of my tour with me, you can share my merchandise stand and sell whatever you want. Shirts, scarves, purses, whatever the hell you make. Four nights a week, you're guaranteed an audience of at least a thousand girls who want to wear the hottest clothes while listening to the hottest man alive redefine music. Give me one good reason why you'd turn me down."

"I couldn't... I... school." Even as she says it, she's picturing a crowd of girls tearing at each other's Hollister sweatshirts in an attempt to reach her designs.

"You aren't on winter break yet?"

"No, I have another week of school. I guess I could call off..." And maybe in the crowds there will be someone who works for a department store, and they'll love her designs...

"Great. So just talk to my manager and she'll work out towing your car and all that stuff."

The waitress sets down the plates, and Brooke snaps back to reality. "Wait a minute. As much as the idea of escaping life for a month sounds pretty damn tempting, it's completely outweighed by the fact that I'd have to spend the entire month with you. And just because I loathe you slightly less than I loathe my ex best friend and my ex man whore of a boyfriend does not mean I still can't stand you. And how do you know I haven't already made it big in the fashion industry? Or maybe I've switched careers! I could be well on my way to being a stockbroker right now, and you're just ignorant. And--" she lowers a voice to a whisper "Did you see what that woman in the corner is wearing? There should be an age limit on hot pants."

Chris bites off half a piece of toast in one mouthful. "I've already convinced you. You're just in denial. Much like you're in denial about how attracted you are to me."

"Attracted to the idea of kicking you in the ass, maybe." She cuts into her pancakes, and thinks about her designs, and going on tour for a month, and Peyton, and Lucas. She chews and thinks and for almost five minutes, they eat in silence.

"Ok." She looks up from the remains of her eggs. "Ok. I'll go, but there are conditions. One, I get my own room. Two, you don't touch me. Three, you give me back the Justin Timberlake CD you I know stole from my car. Four, if you already broke my Justin Timberlake CD, you buy me a new one."

"I reserve the right to have it connected to mine, I'll only touch you when you inevitably touch me first, I took it as a favor to you to try to salvage your taste in music, and there's a Best Buy down the street where I can get you another one."

She glares.

"Rochelle -- that's my manager -- is meeting you in the lobby in ten minutes. I have to be at soundcheck in a few hours, but I'll find time to bring Justin back into your life before then. Anything else Chris Keller can do for you?"

"Five: You may no longer refer to yourself as Chris Keller."

He smirks, stands up, and extracts a twenty from his wallet. Placing it on the table, he leans over the side of the booth where she is still seated.

"Welcome to the Devil's Lair. This is going to be fun." And with one last wink at her, he strides out of the restaurant.

Brooke takes a deep breath and decides that there must have been something funny about the eggs. Yes. The eggs, they were spoiled or something. That explains the funny feeling in her stomach.

Because the idea that Chris Keller gave her butterflies, especially when she's just committed herself to spending an entire month in his company?

That's just too much to handle this early in the morning. Especially with a hangover. 


	4. Chapter 4

Rochelle is blonde, stylish, and so nice and sweet and friendly that Brooke wonders how she ever got involved with Chris Keller.

"Ok, so you can have the t-shirt designs finished by three this afternoon? I know it's short notice, but I need to get the fax sent by four, because we're hoping that we can get a shipment of the new shirts before the Cleveland show tomorrow night."

"I pretty much already know what I want to do for the shirts, so yeah, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Terrific. And you're planning on using this stuff to sell tomorrow night?" Rochelle glances at the pile of stuff that's currently sitting on one of the tour buses. Brooke had stashed a couple of boxes in the trunk of her car, and is glad that she has a bunch of the silk tie belts and hand stitched satchels she's been working on.

"I was hoping that I could go to a fabric store tomorrow so that I can keep working... I have some stuff with me" she gestures towards her bag "but I'm hopefully going to sell out, so..."

"Not a problem. We can arrange a car to take you where ever you need to go. And don't worry; your car will be waiting for you when we get to New York in a few weeks. Any other questions? Your bunk is right back there, bathroom is all the way at the back... oh, and put anything you want in the refrigerator, but I'd label it. People tend to eat anything without a nametag."

Brooke grins. "Thanks, I think I'll be good."

"Okay." Rochelle grabs her purse off the table. "I have to go over to meet up with Chris for his sound check, and then we have to go do a few radio interviews, but I'll be back at three to get that design from you." She waves, and then heads off the bus, already on her cell phone.

Brooke takes a breath, not quite able to believe that just a few days ago she was talking about the guy who was on the door... and now she's here, on a tour bus, with four hours to design a concert t-shirt for a national tour.

Her phone vibrates, and she glances at the screen, which is helpfully reminding her that she's missed 32 calls, she has 24 new text messages, and her voicemail box is completely full. She debates calling Haley, but she realizes she has no clue what to say.

"Later," she mutters, shoving her cell phone into the bottom of her bag. "I'll call her later."

She's listening to Ashlee Simpson on her iPod, adding a bit of embroidery to some of the belts when Rochelle reappears for the third time that day.

"Hey Brooke! I just wanted to thank you again for getting those designs to me so fast. The t-shirts are going to be ready by the time we get to Cleveland tomorrow."

"Oh, that's really cool." Brooke smiles.

"So listen, do you want to come to the show tonight? You probably don't want to sit on this bus all night. The opening act is just about to come on."

"I don't want you to go out of your way or anything..."

"Don't worry about it! Here's a pass for tonight; I'll make sure to put you on the list so that you get all access passes for all the shows. Do you want to change or anything before we go?" She tosses Brooke a laminated pass on a lanyard as she talks. Brooke catches it and stares down at her jeans and tank top.

"Well, I don't really have a lot of clothes with me. Just the stuff that was in my car. But you're sure I won't be bothering you if I come?"

"Not at all. Plus, Chris will be pissed if I don't bring you back like I promised. Come on, I'll get you a good spot backstage where you can see."

Brooke shrugs and grabs her purse. 

A few minutes later, she's positioned just beyond the edge of the stage, wondering why a bunch of guys who look like they should be soccer dads driving minivans are opening for Chris Keller. By the third song, though, she's kind of getting into the music. Hell, they're better than the emo crap Peyton's always playing. Right as the lead singer grabs the mike and says "Alright, everyone, this is going to be our last song tonight. This is 'Reaching Out'," she hears a guitar strum behind her.

"The choice was either these guys or JoJo."

She snorts and turns around. "I thought you'd _like_ the idea of sharing a tour bus with a fourteen year old girl."

A lazy smile plays across his face as he selects another chord. "Jealousy is such an ugly emotion."

She rolls her eyes and watches him continue to tune his guitar as the band behind her goes all out for their last song. 

"Scared? Want me to tell them to keep playing until you can get over your stage fright?"

He smirks. "I've never had stage fright a day in my life."

"Right."

"I'm serious. I'm amazing at what I do. If people don't get that, it's their problem, not mine."

"If your ego gets any bigger, you're really going to have to look into investing in another tour bus."

She hears a huge cheer from the crowd, and the stage goes dark. Chris walks past her and onto the stage. There's a pause of a few minutes while equipment gets moved around and his backup band assembles on stage. Suddenly, the lights go back up, and as Chris' face is illuminated, she's nearly deafened by the screams in the crowd.

"Great," she mutters. "Because he needs more reasons to love himself."

"I'm Chris Keller, and this is called 'When It Comes.'" 

She's nearly fallen asleep on her very inadequate bunk when the curtain is ripped open and someone is shining a flashlight in her face.

"Come play cards with me."

She reaches up and smacks the flashlight down. "Go to hell. It's one in the morning. Some of us went to bed right after the show, as opposed to letting teenage girls fawn over us backstage for two hours."

"Publicity is a fickle dame. I have to get my name out there somehow."

"Well, that explains the talking in the third person."

"Come on, I'm not tired, and you're the only person here within ten years of my age."

"One more time, because we all know you're slow. Go. To. Hell."

"Time to pull out the big guns." She hears the rustling of plastic and the clinking of bottles. "I have beer, cookie dough ice cream, and ten cheeseburgers from the all night McDonalds. Pick your poison."

"You're just lucky I'm hungry." She throws the covers off of herself and awkwardly maneuvers out of her bunk. "What did you say we're playing?"

"War. I prefer poker, but it sucks with only two people, and I know you don't know how to play." He leads them to the front of the bus, which is dark with the exception of a small lamp lighting up a table surrounded by a curved couch. Brooke sits down and yawns.

"Poker is for people who wear polyester and sweat on bizarre parts of their bodies. Now get me a Diet Coke."

Still standing, he crosses his arms. "What's the magic word?"

"Asshole?"

He mutters something she can't hear, but gets her the Diet Coke anyway. She pops the tab and reaches for a cheeseburger while he deals the cards.

"So what did you think of Chris Keller live in concert?"

She shrugs. "You're no Justin Timberlake --"

"Thank God."

"-- but you're not bad."

"Ha." He picks up his cards, and she follows suit. "You were amazed beyond your wildest dreams."

"Hardly."

"Please. Every time I looked over, you were dancing along, with an undisguiseable look of lust on your features."

"That was repulsion from having to look at you for over an hour."

"Come on. You were impressed."

She sighs, scooping up the first hand she's won. "Chris, you are many things. You're a lying bastard, you're an asshole, you have no fashion sense, you have a huge ego, and your hair needs serious work. And having said all that, I will now admit, that yes, you are a pretty good musician."

"I knew you'd come around." He reshuffles his pile of cards. "And soon enough, you'll be falling in to bed with me."

"Again," she says, but so quietly that the slapping of the cards nearly drowns her out.

"Yeah. About that." He takes a sip of his beer, and then puts down his cards. "Why did you agree to come? I mean, you did the right thing, but I thought you'd require more convincing."

She picks apart the bun on her burger, not meeting his eye. "You were an ass to me, and you used me. But I barely know you. If I went back to Tree Hill, I'd see Lucas and Peyton, who were assholes to me and used me. And they're supposed to be the two most important people in my life."

"You said that Peyton kissed Lucas? How... What happened?"

She laughs bitterly and picks her cards back up. "Peyton happened, that's what. Come on, put down your damn card."

He starts playing again. "What, she seduced Lucas with her winning personality?"

"Look, the thing you have to understand about Peyton -- everyone is a little bit in love with her. For as long as I've known Lucas, he's idolized her. Jake, Nathan, everyone. Hell, you're probably in love with Peyton."

"I'm not." His response is so rapid, his tone so low and urgent, that she looks up to meet his eye. He shrugs a little, returning his focus to his cards.

"She's not my type. Too mopey." He leans over to grab a cheeseburger. "What about you? Are you a little bit in love with her?"

"Sadly for you, none of Peyton and my shared emotions are on videotape." Brooke sips some more Diet Coke. "Peyton and I... I don't know. Right now, I'm so mad at her I could slap her -- again. But I'll probably end up forgiving her. She's just..." She struggles for a moment. "You ever read The Iliad?"

"Brooke Davis has read The Iliad?"

She rolls her eyes. "I do pass my classes, you know. We read it in freshman English. So you know how two whole nations go to war just because of one pretty chick? Here's the thing. I bet she wasn't even the prettiest girl in the world. She just had a certain something -- something that made the guys love her enough to justify starting a war. That's Peyton. She's not the prettiest, she's not the funniest, she's not the best artist or friend or anything like that -- but she has this _thing_ that just draws people to her, wanting to be near her, to have her attention, to protect her."

Uncharacteristically, Chris is silent.

"When we were younger, Peyton's mom died in a car crash. And for years after that, all everyone ever told Peyton was that she was so brave, and so strong, and such an amazing girl for being able to like, go on living. That same year? My mom started screaming at me in the middle of the mall one day. I think half the town saw it. I was annoying her, somehow, clinging to her leg or something, and she just went apeshit. She started screaming that I could never just leave her alone for one minute, and I was the most pathetic child she'd ever seen, and if she'd known that I was going to turn out like that she never would have even had a daughter. I was screaming and crying, and she finally just dragged me to the car and we went home. After that, my parents went away for six weeks, and the full time nanny moved in. I stopped asking my parents for anything, and when I turned eleven, my dad gave me my credit card and said I didn't ever have to worry about paying it, so I shouldn't need to talk to them for anything after that. And during all those years, when the whole town knew what pieces of shit my parents were, no one ever came up to me and told me how strong I was. The only person who ever told me that I was amazing for being able to deal with it all was Peyton. With the exception of making out with my boyfriend, she's been the best person in my life."

"With all that shit, you have a whole album full of material." He picks up the last of her cards. "You an also add to it how you suck at War."

"Whatever. You manipulated the deck." 

"I just distracted you by forcing you to unload your emotional baggage. See how brilliant I am?" He's smiling while he says it, and she knows that for once, he's not being an ass. She stands up and stretches.

"Just remember, I always get my revenge. Watch yourself." She turns to walk down the hall to her bunk. "Night, jackass."

"Sweet dreams of my hot body!"

"Being eaten by vultures? Perfect." She climbs into her bunk, shuts the curtain, and almost instantly, she's asleep.

**AN**: Thanks for all the reviews everyone, and sorry it took so long to update! I just moved so things got slowed down a bit; next update should come quicker. Please leave a review if you read this, I love knowing what people think ) Oh and the band mentioned in this chapter, Three Miles Out, is a real band, centered out of northeast Ohio. You can find some of their performances on YouTube.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN**: I'll be shocked if anyone's still reading this. Thank you everyone for the incredible feedback, you have no idea how much it means to me.

Cleveland is quite possibly the most depressing place on Earth. Brooke's been running around the city all day, from the Target to the Pat Cattans to the club where the show is being held, and then back to Pat Cattans again because she had forgotten a couple of essential things. She's tired, grumpy, petrified of her first night selling stuff, and all in all, sick of Cleveland.

"I think the air gave me a disease or something." Brooke wrinkles her nose as Rochelle helps her set up the last of the clutch purses on her display. Brooke has her own register, credit card scanner, and shopping bags. The club employees who are running the merchandise stand won't stop staring at her while they fold concert t-shirts.

"Isn't this the city where they lit the river on fire or something?" Rochelle puts down the final purse and steps back to look at the display. "This looks awesome."

Brooke walks over to join her. "Thanks. For your help, I mean. I didn't think I was going to get everything set up in time."

"No problem. They open the doors in about ten minutes, I think. You want me to go grab you something to eat real quick? We have stuff backstage; Chris always demands plenty of food on his runner."

"Demands, huh? Rochelle, I always knew you secretly hated me." Brooke looks over, and out of nowhere Chris has appeared and positioned himself in between her and Rochelle. Slinging an arm around each of them, he studies Brooke's display.

"Pretty good. But not enough pictures of my face. People want to stare at Chris Keller all the time." Brooke ducks out from under his arm as Rochelle grabs him and starts dragging him away.

"You're supposed to be backstage. The doors are opening in ten minutes, what the hell are you doing?" Chris shoots a smirk over his shoulder towards Brooke as Rochelle continues to steer him away, still yelling at him.

I am ready for this, she thinks, and watches as the doors open and teenage girls start spilling in. It feels like a million hours and no time at all as the first group approaches her table and starts rifling through the merchandise.

That night, laying in her bunk, still buzzing with the glow of having sold half of her stock, she can't quite fall asleep. It's not like she wants Chris to come wake her up, or anything. No, of course not. She just needs to cut down on the caffine. Maybe if she --

Her curtain is yanked open, and she snatches for the flashlight she knows will be there.

"Ow! That was my hand!"

"I was making sure you didn't try to blind me again."

"And your solution was to go all Karate Kid?"

"Do you have beer or not?"

"Natural Light, the king of beers."

"I thought that was Budweiser." She's disturbed to realize that she's already following him towards the front of the bus.

"Well, at the one open mini mart in Cleveland, it was this or forties of King Cobra."

She sits and reaches for a can. "King Cobra?"

"I had a bad experience involving King Cobra, Edward Fortyhands, and the parking lot of a strip bar in Kansas. Trust me, we're better off with the Natty."

They sit in silence for a few moments while he deals the cards and they begin to play.

"So tell me about this Lucas and Peyton thing."

Brooke nearly chokes on her beer. "What the hell is your problem? We have a few minutes of actual, pleasant, comfortable silence, and that's the first thing you come up with?"

He picks her cards up off the table and places them back in her hand. "Why? You have a better icebreaker?"

"Yes! Something that doesn't involve reliving Brooke's emotional hell! Like hey, how were your sales tonight, Brooke? Brooke, are you cold? Is the temperature ok in here? Brooke, would you like some Doritos? Seriously, are you socially retarded?"

He reaches under the table and emerges with a jumbo bag of Doritos. "And if you're cold, I'd be more than happy to help you remedy that."

"It was a hypothetical, jackass." She opens the bag, determined to make as much noise as possible. She eats a couple of chips, puts down a card, and then glares across the table at him.

"You know, this really isn't fair."

"That I'm kicking your ass so throroughly at War? Well, life can be unfair like that."

"It's unfair that you know all this stuff about me, and I know nothing about you."

"Well, I'm a Taurus bordering on the cusp of Aquarius --"

"Shut up. Seriously, where did you even come from? You just showed up in Tree Hill like some sort of plaid shirt wearing plauge, wrecking marriages and making snide remarks. You're like... like..." Brooke frowns. "What's the opposite of a guardian angel?"

"Devil's advocate?" Chris is smirking, and it pisses her off even more.

"Exactly! I know nothing about you! Where were you born? Do some poor souls claim you as family? Should I be worried that your actually an escaped serial killer who's been living in disguise as a B-list rockstar?"

"Fine. Let's make a deal."

Brooke opens another beer and takes a long sip. "What?"

"We trade. Question for question. I go first."

"How come you get to go first? What happened to chivalry?"

"I bought the beer."

"Fine."

"Okay then." He leans back a little, settles in, and looks to Brooke like he's about to really enjoy himself.

"What exactly happened with Lucas and Peyton?"

She chugs some more of her beer, trying to force herself not to get emotional. "Why do you keep doing this to me?"

"Your reduced therapy bills will thank me. Now answer the question."

"I trusted them." She pauses for a moment, setting down her stack of cards. "I trusted them again. And I shouldn't have. I mean, he says they just kissed. But last time, they were together God knows how many times, and I sure as hell didn't ask how far they got --"

"They dated before?"

"No. I dated Lucas last year, too. We broke up because he cheated on me with Peyton and--"

Chris slams down his beer can so hard that it makes her jump. "Hold on a minute. Let me get this straight. You and Lucas dated. He cheated on you with Peyton. You actually dated him again? And he cheated on you with Peyton _again_?"

Hearing it all spelled out like that nearly brings her to tears, and she shakes her head. "No. My turn to ask a question."

"Come on. That was totally an extension of my first question."

"Can I just ask you a fucking question?" Her voice cracks, just a tiny little bit. Chris stares at her for a moment, then slides another beer towards her and says nothing.

"What... Where were you born? I mean, where are you from?"

"New York." He leans forward a bit to rest his elbows on the table. "I grew up in Manhattan. Upper West Side. I left when I was seventeen to start touring."

"Chris Keller didn't get his high school diploma?"

"Hey, no cheating." He gives her a little smile. "My turn."

Brooke waits, sucking in her breath, waiting for the hit, determined to have a bitchy comeback.

"What did you want to be when you were little?"

She stares at his face, looking for a hint of humor or sarcasm.

"What?"

"You know, when you were growing up. What did you want to be?"

Brooke sets her beer down, and allows herself to smile a little. "I wanted to be Lisa from Weird Science."

Chris raises his eyebrows.

"Shut up. Let me guess. You wanted to be in a boy band?"

"No. I wanted to be Captain Planet."

Brooke bursts out laughing. "You're kidding."

"Come on, Captain Planet was the shit! Way better than wanting to be someone from a John Hughes movie."

She flicks a Dorito crumb at him and they both watch as it bounces off the edge of the table.

"Favorite song?"

She chews her lip for a minute. "She Will Be Loved by Maroon 5."

Chris groans and drops his head in his hands. "For the good of humanity, I'm putting decent music on your iPod."

"Don't be jealous because you aren't as sexy as Adam Levine. Fine, what's your favorite song?"

"Keep It Loose, Keep It Tight by Amos Lee."

Brooke wrinkles her nose. "That sounds gross."

"And there goes your dirty mind again. Place you've always fantasized about having sex?"

She raises her eyebrows. "You really think that question will scare me?"

"I was hoping for turned on, actually."

"Something about the sweaty tour bus and the person sitting across the table from me would kind of kill the whole getting turned on thing. Sorry."

"Gonna answer the question?"

"Beach. A real beach, with white sand, blue water... all that good stuff."

"So cliche and predictable."

She leans back and studies his face for a moment. "Why did you leave New York when you were only seventeen?"

For the first time in the conversation, his eyes drift towards the window. "My mom and dad are both investment bankers. They never got the whole music thing. I bought my own guitar, bought my own lessons, all that stuff. When I was fifteen, I played my first show at a bar and never stopped. I'd sneak out almost every night to go play at a cafe or little club, any place in Manhattan that would take me. I had all my credits for high school done by the winter of my senior year, so I graduated early and told my parents I wanted to become a musician full time. My dad told me if that's what I wanted to do, I wasn't going to do it under his roof. So I found someone who would take me on tour, and I left. Haven't looked back."

"So last year, when I saw you in New York --"

"I didn't see my family then. I have no plans to."

"Families blow."

He meets her eyes again, smiling. "You just came up with Chris Keller's new album title."

"Ugh, just when I had almost forgotten how obnoxious you are, you start talking in the third person again."

His smirk is back. "I had to piss you off somehow. We wouldn't want you to do anything crazy like start liking me." He stands, and as he walks past her and drops a kiss on the top of her head. "Night, Brooke."

"Hey! You violated the no touching rule!" She hears him laughing, and realizes disgustedly that her heart is pumping and her stomach is somewhere around her knees.

"Me liking Chris Keller," she mutters under her breath, standing to walk to her bunk. "We wouldn't want anything crazy like that."


	6. Chapter 6

And again, if you are still reading this, thank you. All of your reviews are incredible and are what keeps me writing.

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Two days later, standing in a motel lobby in Iowa, Brooke waits, hands on her hips, foot tapping the ground. Seeing a familiar figure head into the lobby, she marches over with a purposeful stride.

"And who, exactly, gave you permission to steal my iPod and put your icky music on it?"

"Well, good morning sunshine!" Chris smiles and rubs her hair in a thoroughly irritating manner. "Sorry I didn't say 'bye' earlier, I had to be at the radio station pretty early. But the interview went great, thanks for asking."

"Do you know how far I had to scroll down so that I could listen to Madonna?"

"Not far enough, obviously, if you were still able to listen to Madonna."

"Listen, as much as I'm sure my life would be enriched by --" she squints at the screen of her iPod "-- Blue Oyster Cult, do me a favor and don't do me any favors." She ducks around him and walks briskly outside to where a car is waiting for her.

"Where are we going?" His voice is much too close. She needs some time away from him, some time to rationalize her thought process, to force herself into sanity again. Because despite her best efforts, she's finding herself less and less annoyed by him, and more and more inclined to actually spend time with him. And that is **not** a good thing.

"I am going to the fabric store. You are going to go sit in your room and write songs, or call one nine hundred numbers, or whatever you do with your free time."

"That's the problem." She attempts to slam the door while he's talking, but he just pulls it out of her grasp and slides in the backseat next to her. "I'm kind of blocked."

"Blocked?"

"Yeah. I haven't written anything in four days. I have a little bit of a melody I want to use, some chords, but I can't figure out any words."

"Isn't that too bad for you. I guess your music career will be over before it's even begun. What a shame."

"I just need inspiration."

"I really don't understand how going to a fabric store is going to help."

"I need distraction. It triggers my brain." He stares at her expectantly.

"I'm not taking my shirt off."

"Damn."

They have a stare off for a minute; and then, rolling her eyes, she relents. "Fine. You can come. But don't touch anything, and don't talk. You're just there to carry stuff for me."

He grins and slings an arm around her. "I love field trips!"

Turns out, he's not terrible at carrying things. Plus, he can reach things off of all the high shelves that are a foot above her head.

They've been shopping for nearly two hours, and all she needs is one more bolt of fabric. She chews her lip, glancing back and forth between a blue pinstripe pattern and a shimmery pink with little stars.

"Blue."

She glances over at Chris, who's leaning against a fabric rack, carrying three full shopping baskets and wearing several spools of ribbon around his neck.

"Excuse me?"

"Blue. Get the blue fabric."

"Right. Because I always take fashion advice from someone who wears short sleeved flannel shirts without irony."

"You just said you want something to pair the gold ribbon with. The stars on the pink fabric are silver. It would look weird."

"I'm sorry, did you come on this shopping trip to get inspiration or to come out of the closet?"

"Fine. Ignore my advice. Don't blame me when Clothes Over Broes plummets and you're left walking the streets with fifty pink purses that no one wants."

"You know what you should title your next song? Shut the hell up." She grabs the blue fabric and stomps off to the checkout line.

When she walks into his room, he's sitting on the king size bed, his guitar resting propped up against the edge of the bed.

"Please, please don't brood. I don't need anymore guys in my life who brood."

Any traces of contemplation disappear from his face as he gives her a signature smirk. "So I've been upgraded to the status of 'guy in your life?' That explains you coming into my hotel room. Can't resist me, it's alright. They all break down eventually."

"Or my TV is broken, and there's a really good episode of Saved by the Bell on." She climbs onto the bed next to him and grabs the remote.

"Are you kidding me? How am I supposed to write songs while you're watching this crap?"

"Zach and Kelly are not _crap_. Actually, there is nothing about Zach Morris that is crap."

She settles in to watch, and he rolls his eyes but stays uncharacteristically silent. Brooke finds herself tearing up when Zach and Kelly start dancing.

"You're not serious."

She leans over to punch him in the arm without taking her eyes off the TV.

"You're actually crying over Saved by the Bell."

"Some of us have these things called emotions, Chris, and --" She's cut off by the ringing of a cell phone. Brooke snorts.

"You have your own song as a ringtone? That really shouldn't be allowed."

He ignores her, which pisses her off way more than it should.

"Hey, I told you not to call unless I --" He frowns. "Uh huh. Yeah, that's really not a good idea."

Brooke flips through the channels, pausing on a Lifetime movie. Maybe she's imagining things, but she could swear that he's sort of looking at her while he talks on the phone.

"Well, why can't you just tell me? I can so be sensitive enough!"

Ok, she's totally not imagining it.

"Look, she won't want to -- no. Just let me -- Haley, listen to me!"

Brooke instantly whirls around on the bed. "You're talking to _Haley_?"

Chris scoots backwards on the bed, looking guilty. "I called her that night I met up with you and let her know where you were. I figured -- hold on, I'm talking to Brooke."

Brooke swings her legs of the bed and stands up, not quite believing how pissed off she is. "So this whole time you've been spilling to Haley and everyone behind my back all my secrets, huh? Letting them laugh it up! God, you're an asshole!"

"Brooke! This is the first time I've talked to her since then. I've texted her once a day to let her know your alive and I told her not to call unless it was an emergency. Which apparently this isn't, because she won't tell me why she's calling." He rolls his eyes at the phone, but she won't be calmed down.

"You know what? I feel like having a chat with Tutor Wife." Taking him by surprise, she leans forward and snatches the phone from him. He attempts to swipe it back but she shoves him back down on the bed.

"Haley! How's the trash talking going? Shared enough of my inner pain yet? Did Chris send you today's updates?"

"I didn't --" Chris starts to protest but Brooke gives him her deadliest glare.

"Brooke, thank god. Listen, we need to..." Haley trails off and she hears mumbling in the background. Nathan? Lucas? She can't tell the voice. "Hold on a sec."

"Hold on?!?" Brooke actually stares at the cell phone, as if it will somehow provide more answers. "What the hell is that? She's the one who wants to talk to me so badly, and now she thinks she can just..."

"B-Brooke?"

Brooke hears the voice, and it's as if her entire stomach is dropping to somewhere around the region of her knees.

"Peyton."

"I've been trying to call your cell, but it's turned off, and Haley told me you were with Chris, but he wouldn't pick up his phone, so I'm so glad I finally got through."

Peyton's voice is shaking, and Brooke feels a slow burn of rage start up in her chest.

"So you decided that telling me to my face that your in love with my boyfriend wasn't enough, and you wanted to get in a little phone time as well? How are you two, by the way? Set a date yet?"

"Brooke... I -- we -- there's something you need to know."

"Aw, you two have found happiness? That's just lovely. I'll make sure to send you a card with my blessing."

"It's Lucas, Brooke. He's on his way to see you."

She feels like the room has just spun around a little, and has to actually sit down on the edge of the bed. She feels Chris looking at her but ignores him.

"He --what?"

"He found the tour dates on the website, and he's coming to tell you... but..." She hears Peyton pause and sniffle. "You have to give him a message for me. His cell's out of service."

The room stops spinning, and Brooke can feel her anger again. "That's lovely, P. Sawyer, but you'll have to excuse me for not wanting to play Cupid. I'm sure you can just tell him whatever you want when he comes back with my footprint in his ass."

"No, it's not... just tell him I'm not, ok?" Brooke's now almost positive that Peyton's crying. "Tell him I was wrong, and I'm not."

Before Brooke can try and come up with something to say to that confusion, the in-room phone starts ringing. Taking it as a sign of some sort, she presses the end key on Chris' phone and tosses it back to him. "You're a jackass, and I'm so pissed off at you," she snaps, and starts to head towards the door.

"Brooke, wait! I--" The loud ringing of the phone interrupts his voice, and he groans. "Hello? Who?"

Brooke is halfway into the hallway when he calls after her.

"Brooke! Lucas Scott is waiting for you in the lobby."

She doesn't really remember taking the elevator to the ground floor and walking across the lobby. All she knows is that she's standing there, white hot fury blazing through her veins, and for some reason, Chris is standing there with her. Lucas gives her a half smile that a month ago would've melted her heart.

"Brooke." He takes a half step closer. "We've all been so worried."

"Cut the shit, Lucas, and tell me why the hell you're here." Chris laughs, and she clenches her nails into her palms so tightly she swears she might draw blood.

"I..." He runs his hand through his hair and sighs. "Peyton wanted to tell you, but she couldn't, so I said I would. Because she's a friend, Brooke, and she didn't want to hurt you. Ok? You have to remember that, she didn't do this to hurt you."

A funny feeling is spreading through her stomach, like she sort of might know what's coming. "Peyton..." She trails off, begging him with her eyes not to confirm what she's thinking.

"She twisted her ankle the other day, and she went to the doctor. So they were going to do an x-ray, you know, and they always have these questions, and... uh... well, she had to tell them that she might..." He's fidgeting, and suddenly she knows.

"You know what? Let me save you some trouble, Lucas. Peyton said to tell you that she's not."

Lucas blinks a few times. "She's not... you mean she isn't..."

"Pregnant? Is that the word you're looking for?"

She thinks she hears a "holy shit" from behind her, but she ignores it. "Because if she thought she was pregnant, Lucas, you're an awfully good friend to drive all over the country spreading the news to anyone who might give a shit. But wait a minute. Here's the puzzle. Why would I give a damn if Peyton was pregnant?"

"Brooke..."

"The answer is, I wouldn't. Or rather, I shouldn't. I shouldn't care whether or not Peyton is with child. The only issue here seems to be that **you** are standing here telling me about her little miracle. Which only means one thing, you colossal dickhead. It means that you would've been the father."

She waits a minute, waits for him to deny it, to spin some long story about being a caring friend to the girl who'd been abandoned by the midget rockstar or the teen father. But he doesn't. He just stands there.

"And since I seem to be getting everything right tonight, I'm just going to go ahead and guess this little creation of life happened while we were together?"

"Brooke, it was an accident."

She snorts. "An accident? Spilling Diet Coke on my new purse is an accident. Screwing Peyton was a decision."

He has the mournful puppydog face now, and she really, really wants to hit him. "Brooke, it wasn't like that, ok? It was after the shooting, and she had just come back from visiting Ellie's grave. She was really upset, and she needed a friend, and --"

"So you comforted her with your _penis_?"

Chris cracks up behind her.

"Brooke, you really need to --"

"I don't, actually." The flood of anger is threatening to escape through the tears pooling in her eyes. "I don't need to do anything except tell you to get the hell out of my face and stay away from me. I never want to speak to you again."

"Dammit, Brooke! Just listen!" Lucas starts to take a step closer to her, and before she can get her stiletto within kicking range of a good target, Chris has somehow moved in front of her.

"Dude, I think she wanted you to leave." He's smiling, a bit, but there's also a slight steeliness in his eyes, and Brooke is suddenly very aware of the fact that Chris is taller than Lucas. She wonders why she'd never really noticed it before.

"Chris. This is between me and Brooke." Lucas starts to step around Chris, but Chris simply moves with him, blocking his stride.

"Actually, I'm in between you and Brooke. And I'm telling you, the conversation is done."

They stare off at each other a moment longer.

"Fine." Lucas glares in her direction for a moment, and as she watches him exit through the glass doors of the hotel, she thinks she's going to throw up. Chris turns to her and raises an eyebrow.

"See, that was way more entertaining than Saved by the Bell."

She can't decide whether to laugh or cry, so she instead silently walks towards the elevator, letting him trail behind her. The silence envelops them as the elevator coasts back up to their floor, remaining unbroken as he follows her into her room. Brooke flops backwards onto the bed and wonders if she could just fall asleep for a really, really long time. Like six months. She shuts her eyes, and then abruptly opens them as she feels the weight of the mattress shifting next to her.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm laying down on your bed."

She can't even muster up a sarcastic comment. "Why?"

"Because I'm comforting you."

"Not fucking likely." She waits for him to snap back, to shove her elbow, to sit back up. Several moments of silence pass. "You can't violate the no touching rule."

"Didn't say I was planning on it."

She shuts her eyes, not wanting to see the ugly ceiling anymore. "Well, I'm not planning on moving anytime soon."

"Good. Bed's pretty damn comfortable."

This time, the silence is longer. She opens her eyes at some point, and spends what she figures is half an hour watching the shadows across the ceiling stretch longer and longer as the sun sets outside. Her eyes shut again, and the next time they open, the room is completely dark. She realizes that at some point she must have fallen asleep.

"Chris?" Her voice is a lot weaker than she'd like, and she can't believe how lost and tiny her voice sounds in the blackness.

"Still here." The vibrations tickle her ear, and she feels herself relax, just a little.

"Okay," Brooke half speaks, half whispers, and she closes her eyes again.


End file.
